Facing the Consequences
by hughville
Summary: After driving his car into Cuddy's home, House runs off to a tropical island.  While there, he meets up with Cameron.  While there are mentions of Huddy, this is a HOUSE/CAMERON one-shot.


**A/N: This takes place at the end of _Moving On_, the S7 finale. I "borrowed" some dialogue from the episode.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _House_. If I did, he never in a million years would have driven his car into Cuddy's house endangering her, her guests and possibly her child. I don't care for Cuddy but that was just plain wrong.**

A soft breeze sighs through the trees and ruffles your hair. You sing softly as you limp down the sidewalk to the end of the block. The neighborhood is quiet. Most people are at work and the children are in school. Sunlight dapples the sidewalk and warms you when you reach the end of the block. She is sitting in her car waiting for you, a worried frown marring her pretty features. You open the car door and carefully get in. Your right leg is shooting out a burning pain but you have to wait to do anything about it. Looking down, you see a splash of crimson on your jeans. Your incision is bleeding but that will have to wait, too.

"Why do you not have your car, Greg?" she asks in her soft accented voice.

"Just drive."

She puts the car in gear and drives.

You push the button that makes the seat recline and when you are lying back, you sigh and close your eyes.

"Did you pack my things?" you ask.

"Yes."

"Good," you reply. "Take me to the airport."

"What has happened?" she asks.

"The less you know, the better off you'll be," you tell her.

Silence descends as she concentrates on driving.

The reality of what you have done begins to sink in. Normally you control yourself better. Jealousy isn't something you experience often. In fact, you're not even sure what you felt was actually jealousy. Seeing Cuddy with her sister, brother-in-law and another man, laughing and talking, caused something in you to snap like a dry twig. Throughout your entire relationship with Cuddy, you tied yourself up in knots to please her, but in the end, none of it was good enough for her. You weren't good enough for her. So seeing her moving on made you want to hurt her as much as she hurt you. Also, she did ask you to bring her hairbrush back to her. Driving your car into her dining room probably wasn't the best way to return it but you never do things the normal way.

You doze until you feel her hand on your arm.

"We are here," she tells you.

Sitting up, you see that she parked at the departure area of the airport. You open the door and carefully plant your feet on the ground. Grabbing your cane, you slam the car door.

"My bag?" you ask, leaning in the open window.

She pops the trunk open and you limp back to grab your bag.

"Greg," she calls out.

You walk to the driver's side door and stoop down to look at her.

"Thanks, Dominika," you tell her. "Go enjoy time with your boyfriend."

Standing, you slowly make your way into the airport and head for the nearest international ticket booth.

* * *

><p>The salty breeze washes over you as you sit at the bar. Looking around, you smile.<p>

"You want another one?" the bartender asks.

"No, I think I've had enough," you tell him. It's true. You've had enough to drink. You've had enough of trying to be something you aren't. You've had enough of everything.

"What do you think I should do today?" you ask.

"I don't know? Go home?"

You smile. "Not tonight. Cheers."

Sliding off the stool, you start down the beach. The sun is setting, gilding the rolling waves with golden light. The frothy water curls around your shoes and you keep walking. It isn't far to the villa you've rented. Your leg doesn't hurt thanks to the Vicodin in your jacket pocket. In fact, you're comfortably numb. As you walk through the rising tide, you see a woman coming toward you. The setting sun washes in her rosy golden light. There is something familiar about the way she holds her head and walks. As she approaches you, you recognize her. The sea breeze tosses her blonde hair around her shoulders. She is wearing a tiny blue bikini that shows off the long line of her legs, the taut plane of her stomach and the fullness of her breasts.

You try to suppress a smile as she stops in front of you.

"Cameron."

She shakes her head at the sound of her name.

"House."

The fading sunlight gleams against her golden skin. Her blue-green eyes are bright and the sun has touched her cheeks and nose with a pink tint.

"Vacationing?" you ask.

She nods and puts her hands on her hips. "And you?" she asks.

"I'm a fugitive from justice."

Sighing, she shakes her head. "Why does that not surprise me? Did you kill a patient? Forge prescriptions?"

"I drove my car into Cuddy's house."

She stares at you for a moment and then bursts out laughing. The sound rolls over you like the waves curling around your feet. You'd forgotten how much you love her laugh; the white flash of her teeth against dark pink lips; the sudden flash of amusement turning her eyes a sparkling shade of blue.

"You think that's funny?" you ask leaning on your cane.

"No," she responds smiling. "I'm just surprised it took you this long to snap."

"You've heard." You lean more heavily against your cane as the pain in your leg awakes like a sleeping dragon that bites and breathes fire along the damaged limb.

"Come back to my place and I'll tell you all about my fall from grace," you say.

She hesitates and then nods.

Once inside your villa, you pull out your bottle of Vicodin and pop two of the white tablets into your mouth. You swallow and swallow again, forcing the pills down. With a sigh, you sink down onto the overstuffed rattan couch and toss your cane down on the floor. Cameron stands, barefooted, still wearing nothing but the tiny bikini. You watch her as she looks around the open living room with the row of French doors opened to catch the breeze; the filmy sheers at each end fluttering in the salt-tinged breeze; the white rattan furniture with the overstuffed cushions; the glass topped coffee table cluttered with your laptop, empty glasses and a half-filled bottle of Maker's Mark. She moves forward, her feet scuffing against the woven grass rug covering the wood plank floor. Sinking down into the chair across from you, she looks around. Your gaze follows hers. You see the beach inspired décor, the fading light and the glimpse of sea and sand through the open doors.

She tucks her feet beneath her and leans back waiting for you to talk. You can hear the whisper of waves against the sand, the fading cry of a lone seagull and her fingers tapping out a rhythm on the arm of the chair.

"How much do you know?" you ask after a long silence.

She tilts her head and shrugs. "You got your dream team. Chase wasn't arrested. You're obviously back on the Vicodin so the rehab didn't last. Beyond that…." Her voice trails off and she looks at you.

"Cuddy and I got together," you begin, watching her closely. Her eyes widen slightly. "I tried to be the man she needed me to be. I couldn't. We broke up and I drove my car into her house. She left her hairbrush at my apartment and wanted it back."

Cameron laughs again. "And now you're running away."

"Seems to work for you," you grin.

"I didn't commit attempted vehicular manslaughter," she reminds him.

You shrug. "She wanted her brush back. I gave it to her."

She laughs again and you realize with a sudden burning ache that you miss her.

Her legs uncurl and she stretches. You watch the play of muscles beneath her smooth skin. Her bikini top rides up slightly exposing the pale underside of her breasts. When she relaxes, the triangles covering her breasts wrinkle slightly and she adjusts the top, drawing your gaze to the rigid outline of her nipples beneath the thin fabric.

You expect her to tell you to stop staring at her breasts but she just sits, watching you, waiting for you to speak again.

"It was actually Wilson's idea," you tell her.

She looks at you skeptically. "Wilson told you to ram your car into Cuddy's house."

You squirm a bit under her level stare. "He told me I'd feel better if I let it out."

"It being….?" she prompts.

You look around the room at the framed pictures of sand dunes and sea creatures, at the curtains billowing in the breeze, at the sea framed by the doors, at anything but her.

"Anger," you finally say softly.

She stays silent but stands and moves to sit next to you. She smells of suntan lotion, the sea and lavender. You'd forgotten the lavender smell that always subtly wafted off her skin. Her hand is soft as she takes your hand and holds it.

You feel the burn of tears and blink to keep them from falling. She strokes your hand with her fingers, still silent, still watching you.

You swallow. A lump forms in your throat as the tears slide down your cheeks.

"Why wasn't I good enough?" you ask softly.

"Why couldn't she accept you for who you are?" she counters. She pulls in a deep breath. "House. Greg."

You turn your head slightly and look at her expecting to see pity shining from her eyes. Instead you see anger and understanding.

"She wanted you to be someone you weren't. That's her issue not yours," she tells you.

You wait. Her eyes hold yours and time ceases. All you are aware of are her eyes and her hand against yours.

"You have to go back and face the consequences of your actions," she says finally.

"They'll send me to jail."

She nods and continues to stroke your hand. "It's the right thing to do. You do what you do because it's right. That's who you are. You lost your way for a little while, but now you have to go back. Be who you are. Get back to being House."

You swallow and sniff. She reaches up and wipes the tears from your face. You nod.

"Why did I fire you?" you ask, trying to smile.

She laughs.

"I wanted you to stay," you tell her.

She looks away and you focus on the curve of her neck.

"But I made it impossible for you to stay," you remark. "I'm sorry."

When she turns back to you, you see the affection and forgiveness in her eyes and you sigh. Leaning toward her, you close your eyes and touch your lips to hers. You expect her to pull back, move away, to tell you no, anything that will let you know she doesn't want this. Instead, she leans in to you, her shoulder pressing against yours, her breast flattening against your chest. You shift and pull back slightly. She nods slightly so you lift your right hand and gently grasp the back of her neck, her hair sliding like silk against your fingers. Your lips touch hers again but this time, she responds by opening her mouth and touching her tongue to yours. That touch sends a jolt of desire through you that makes you deepen the kiss, stroking your tongue into her mouth. She tastes like bananas and pineapples and you lick the taste of them from her mouth. She presses against you, straining toward you as her tongue glides along the inside of your mouth licking away all the bitterness there. Your heart is thundering in your chest and you are sweating as you pull her plump lower lip into your mouth and suck gently on it. Her top lip slides across yours and you can feel her heart beating a staccato rhythm in her chest and feel the sweat gathering along the nape of her neck. Slowly, reluctantly, you pull back and release her. You watch her as you try to remember how to breathe. For a moment, her eyes remain closed as she breathes, a flush of desire deepening the pink in her cheeks.

"I really screwed things up with you, didn't I?" you ask, reaching up to twist a strand of her hair around your finger. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to wait for me? You know once I do the whole jail thing?"

She bites her lip and stares down at your hand gripping hers. "I might."

"Works for me."

She laughs again and you relax for the first time since she walked away from you all those months ago.


End file.
